Cool, Calm, Collected
by Perfect Mischief
Summary: Ginny Weasley is on a secret mission... in the library. Some good DG banter to enjoy. A very cute one-shot. So read and review!


I slide into one of the old wooden chairs in front of a table that has a large crooked crack running down its width. The library is dead quiet, with only the barely-audible hum of talking and the occasional outburst of incontrollable laughter, which is quickly silenced by a startling look from Madame Pince. There's a small girl, maybe a first year, so concentrated on writing her essay that her eyebrows have furrowed together and her eye has a hardly noticeable twitch. But I notice, and I have to shove the back of my hand into my mouth to keep from laughing. _Focus, _I remind myself. _You're on a mission._ I take a deep and dramatic breath, centering myself for what I am about to do. _Focus, focus, focus, _I repeat in my head.

Focus. That's about the last thing I'm gonna do. This boy could my brain start buzzing with just one of those casual glances and the (to my misfortune, and to his undeserved luck) to-die-for smirk that he bared every so often. I scan the room and immediately spot his obvious blond head, which is resting nonchalantly on his pale hand. I'm glad to see he's alone, which is unusual for him, with all of his willing Slytherin fans. I feel like such an idiot for wanting what all those posers want, but there's nothing I can do about that now. No, I tried to place his sickly beautiful face somewhere far from my mind, but every attempt was failed. I tried to convince myself I saw nothing in him, but my feelings soon betrayed me as he melted me with his simper.

I lean my head back, trying to soothe my nerves. "Cool, calm, collected," I breathe to myself, in a sort of hypnotic rhythm until my eyes are sore from not blinking. I tell myself he won't reject me, I tell myself he won't tease me, I tell myself he won't tell Ron. But there's still this gnawing anxiety tainting my feeling of power over the situation. The last time I had talked to him had been in my first year, when I had defended Harry (stupidly, I must admit) in that bookshop. The rest of the year had been a blur of Tom Riddle, Jr. and a sense of not owning my own body. I remind myself that was four years ago, and I am now a fully responsible, so much wiser fifteen year old, and it will never, ever, _ever _happen again. (There's that worry again, chewing away at my self esteem and telling me that it won't ever happen again… if I'm lucky.)

I glance over at him and quickly look away when our eyes meet, his lip curling up in his signature sneer. Why had he been looking at me? Then again, we had shared these glances more than once; in hallways, across the Great Hall, during Quidditch matches. And every time, he would look my way and smirk, his eyes narrowing slightly like he had some plan for me. It was chilling in an admittedly flattering way. Perhaps it was because he was insulting my economic status in his mind, or perhaps he was insulting my blood status the same way. Or a twisted combination of both. I shudder slightly, and lift my chin in a haughty attempt to shoo thoughts such as these from my mind. Unsuccessfully. Sigh.

Taking another deep breath, I start to push back my chair and stand up. I hesitate for a moment before mentally slapping myself into shape. I begin to walk over to the small table where he's sitting, and look at his books strewn across it. My breathing quickens as I sit across from him. _Cool__, calm, collected; cool, calm, collected… _my mantra plays in my head over and over, half hoping he won't notice me and I'll leave now and the other half praying he'll notice and say something. _Cool, calm, collected. Cool, calm, coll__ect- _

"Hi," I say stupidly, breaking the silence. He looks up in surprise at the sound of my voice.

"I haven't gotten any money on me, if that's what you want, Weasley." I should be mad, but I can't be at the sight of that heart-stopping smirk. But his words can't faze me now. I've already made it this far, and now there is no backing out.

"That's not what I want, Malfoy," I say smoothly, keeping my voice calm and serene. _He's not worth the anger, _a voice that sounded sort of like Hermione chided in my head.

"Then what is it? In case you couldn't see, I'm trying to do work," he says slowly, as though I'm dumb. I roll my eyes, and absentmindedly drum my fingers on the table. He's staring at me, a calculating gaze that is only emphasized by that unfairly sexy smirk. It's like he knows what I'm doing, and plans to see me fall flat on my face.

"Take me to the Winter Solstice Ball." The look on his face is pure genius, with his eyes kinda bugging out of his head, eyebrows mid forehead, and smirk deterring into a slightly confused frown. He quickly composes himself and puts back on his collected façade. He really ought to follow my mantra. His eyes narrow slightly.

"And why should I?" he asks leisurely, leaning back in his chair.

"Why shouldn't you?" I say genuinely, wondering the very same.

"I can think of a lot of reasons, Weasley."

"Just take me, Malfoy," I say, pretending to sound bored. But he seems to see through it by the way I keep glancing at him. His titanium eyes fill with mischief and his cheeky smirk is back in place, where it belongs.

"Don't I get a say in this?" he asks innocently, leaning forward so his elbows reach the middle of the table, his chin resting in his hands.

"And why should you?" I say, leaning in to meet him in the middle, our eyes locked. He gives a little laugh and I feel satisfied inside.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Weasley, but you're a little too late; I already have a date." I shouldn't have been surprised. My grin wavers a bit, but I pull myself together for another quick comeback. We really should have debate teams at Hogwarts; according to Dad, they're quite common at Muggle schools.

"Then tell Parkinson you've decided to take up another offer."

"It's not so much an offer as a demand, Weasley. And I'm not taking Pansy," he retorts, looking calm as ever.

"Of course not. Because you're taking _me._" I smile and brush a lock of red hair from my face.

"Right. I forgot," he breathes, and I can feel his cool breath on my face. Tingles shoot down my spine and a sudden fluttery feeling erupts in my stomach. My shoulders relax.

"But next time, Weasley, _I'm _asking _you._"


End file.
